


Uncover

by flowerdeluce



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Betazoid Culture, Betazoid Weddings, Food, Gen, Laughter, Nudity, Self-Discovery, Star Trek Holidays Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: Uncoververb1. make (something) visible by uncovering it.2. discover (something previously secret or unknown).- - -Data and Deanna attend a Betazoid wedding.
Relationships: Data & Deanna Troi
Comments: 26
Kudos: 67
Collections: Star Trek Holidays 2019





	Uncover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satchelfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satchelfoot/gifts).



> The nudity tag relates to the traditional nudity of Betazoid wedding ceremonies. Other wedding customs in this fic are taken from _Imzadi_ (by Peter David), and some are made up! 
> 
> Thank you to my beta.

Deanna always enjoyed the mental afterglow a successful mission had on the _Enterprise_ ’s senior officers. Collective satisfaction radiated from the minds of those seated around the conference lounge’s long table while the Captain wrapped up the proceedings, congratulating them on a job well done. 

Basking in the emotion, Deanna let it envelop her like a warm blanket. Each of the surrounding psyches had its own nuances of feeling, built upon a foundation of its owner’s values. Beverly’s happiness was paired with a strong sense of relief that she’d managed to help those in need of her areas of expertise. Always dwarfed by self-imposed expectations, Worf’s pride was a dense pocket of feeling lodged within the weight of his enduring insistence that victory was the only option. 

After the Captain addressed the matter of the few free days between this mission’s conclusion and the expected arrival of their next, Deanna saw an opportunity to ask her question. 

“On that subject, Captain, I was wondering if we might make a brief stop at Betazed tomorrow?” 

Picard linked his fingers on the table like he was bracing himself. “As we have no other place to be at this time, I shouldn’t think that’d leave us too far off course.” Deanna sensed the question at the forefront of his mind, urgent and foreboding: _Why?_

“A friend of mine is marrying. I didn’t think I’d make the ceremony, but seeing as we’re finished earlier than expected, I’d like to surprise her.” She answered Picard’s next question before he had the chance to ask it. “It would have been a good opportunity to catch up with my mother, of course . . .” The dread the Captain was trying his utmost to conceal seemed to coil around him physically, forcing his spine straighter. “But her ambassadorial duties are keeping her busy in the Goren system currently.” 

“And, I assume they will for some time?” 

“I expect so.” 

Picard almost broke into a smile. “Well.” He sat back in his chair, raising his spread hands with such carefree weightlessness it was almost as though the artificial gravity had stopped working. “Unless anyone has any objections, I don’t see why we can’t drop by.” 

After seeing nobody did, Deanna added, “It is customary to bring a guest. If you can spare two of us?” 

Will Riker leaned over the table, his interest and intent passing into Deanna’s mind so clearly it was almost like he’d beamed it into the center of her skull. “Have anyone in mind?” 

Deanna pushed aside the rising tension in the room. It spread around the table like a blush as each occupant remembered what was expected of guests at Betazoid weddings. Geordi’s eagerness had him leaning forward over the table. Worf too. They almost spoke over each other. 

“I’ve never attended a Betazoid wedding,” Geordi said in a rush, determined. 

Irritated at being beaten to the post, Worf grumbled, “Neither have I.”

“They’re great fun,” Will said, smiling broadly.

The only person averse to the idea was the captain. He sat silently, hands laced across his abdomen, seeming to enjoy watching his officers work it out.

“Actually,” Deanna cut in, “I was hoping Data might accompany me.” She turned to him as he jolted in surprise, the only clue she had to his view on the matter. “If that’s okay with you?”

“It is, Counselor,” Data said. “Though I must ask, for what reason do you believe I would make a good companion?” 

“I think the experience will be beneficial to us both.” Deanna smiled to put him at ease, dismissing the fact that her android friend would claim uneasiness an impossibility. His confused expression was unmistakable, however, and it was all Deanna had to go on. 

Her attempts to probe into Data’s positron matrix were always met with silence. That’s exactly why she wanted him to accompany her to Betazed. The strong electromagnetic atmosphere on Targon II meant Data couldn’t join the away team during the mission they were wrapping up, so she added: “You must be itching to get off the ship by now.”

Data drew a breath and raised a finger, readying himself to correct her—probably to inform her that bioplast was impossible of itching—but he stopped, seeming to catch her meaning. “Yes, thank you, Counselor.” He turned his attention to the table’s occupants. “I will need to ask one of you to look after Spot in my absence.” 

The afterglow dimmed a little as the table fell into an awkward silence. Suddenly, everyone had something more interesting to look at than the ship’s second officer. Deanna smiled inwardly at Geordi’s mental resignation—like a bone-deep sigh—before he volunteered aloud. What were best friends for if not scratching posts? Will on the other hand, projected genuine anxiety at the mere suggestion.

“I’d love to,” Beverly said, saving Geordi’s patience and Riker’s sanity. “Spot’s always good company.” 

The relief was palpable even to those without empathic abilities. That is, to everyone besides Data. 

Straightening in his seat, Picard ordered reports to be in by the end of the day and wished everyone a relaxing break. 

*

After Captain Picard sent a brief message to the Federation embassy on Betazed, notifying them of their impending visitors, the _Enterprise_ ’s counselor and first officer beamed down to their chosen coordinates. 

They materialized beneath the entrance to a large public garden: an ornate archway heavily entwined with greenery and plump, purple blossoms. A stone pathway stretched into the garden before them, weaving through its lush landscape of lawns, ponds and colorful flowerbeds. 

Data hadn’t been persuaded to change out of uniform; Deanna, however, wore an emerald green dress that hugged the curves of her body down to her waist, then flowed in long swathes to her ankles. They made an odd pair, though Deanna had explained before they left that she’d hoped Data would accompany her for that very reason. Not only would he deflect attention away from herself—the Federation Ambassador’s daughter who hadn’t visited in far too long—but she wouldn’t need to worry about the beaconlike mind of a human companion who might find the ceremony . . . stimulating. Data had agreed and pointed out that he would find the experience an interesting exercise in social interaction. 

As they were a little over an hour early for the wedding, Deanna suggested they stroll through this garden before arriving at the chapel. It would be pleasant, she said, to soak up Betazed’s sunshine, its fresh air, and peace and quiet. Data did not require any of those things to function more effectively than usual, but he did remark on how warm the sunshine felt against his shoulders as they walked arm in arm along the winding path.

Bands of brilliant midday sun illuminated the striking displays of flora they passed. Data made an effort to visually scan as many of the blooms as he could for later analysis, and he did so while listening intently to the counselor. She told him stories of her strong telepathic bond with her childhood friend, the bride-to-be, her picnics in this very garden while she studied nearby, and pointed out which of the blossoms were her favorites. 

They paused at the edge of a wide pond to watch a shoal of plump fish with long diaphanous fins dart back and forth through the crystal-clear water. A frog-like creature with pink skin hopped towards them across green pads scattering the surface like stepping stones. Deanna reached a hand toward it, then gasped and turned sharply. A woman ran along the path towards them, arms outstretched, her long ginger curls trailing behind her. 

“Cristeen!” Deanna called. 

Cristeen was the bride-to-be Deanna had spoken so warmly of. Deanna had hoped to keep her visit and attendance of the wedding a surprise. She had also told Data it was near impossible to keep secrets on Betazed. Word traveled fast when words weren’t needed at all. It appeared she was correct.

After the two old friends embraced, Cristeen’s face came alive. Her eyebrows raised and furrowed above large black irises as they stared at each other, her smile shifting as she squeezed Deanna’s arm. They were communicating telepathically, Data realized. An interesting and oddly silent affair. 

Deanna was just as animated, though she laughed aloud as they inwardly conversed. Cristeen threw her head back at odd intervals, and Data couldn’t place what the gesture meant. While he contemplated, Cristeen appeared to notice him for the first time over Deanna’s shoulder. Her mouth opened and she froze, staring up at him. 

“Oh, Data, I’m sorry.” Deanna stepped back from her friend and took Data’s arm. “Cristeen, this is Data. He’s my plus-one.” 

Cristeen’s expression brightened. “It’s lovely to meet you, Data,” she said aloud. Her voice was soft and melismatic, the smallest hint of an accent clinging to its edges. “A friend of Deanna’s is a friend of mine.” 

“Likewise,” Data nodded. “I am looking forward to the ceremony.” 

Cristeen stared at him with searching eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you before.” 

“Don’t worry,” Deanna pressed. “You’ve got enough on your mind today.” 

“Yes, I . . .” Cristeen trailed off, falling back into the method of communication she was accustomed to. She nodded emphatically before they embraced again, then sprinted down the path the way she had come. 

“She’s very excited,” Deanna said, smiling as she turned back to the pond’s pleasing view. 

“Will the ceremony be as quiet as your conversation?” 

“No. Weddings are performed ‘out loud’ in case off-worlders are present. You’ll follow it.”

Data nodded. “Cristeen seemed suspicious of me.” 

“Not suspicious.” She shook her head gently. “Surprised. It’s always surprising to encounter a mind that doesn’t announce itself, especially to those less traveled than myself.”

“I hope my presence will not hinder today’s proceedings.” 

Deanna squeezed his arm. “Of course not.”

One of the plump fish broke from its shoal and rose to the surface. Data watched with interest as its small mouth emerged from the water to make a high peeping sound at the pair of them. It reminded him of Spot appearing from behind a chair or wherever she had been hiding to announce her hunger. He searched his knowledge bank for more information about what the sound meant in the case of this fish and found it was a similar cry for nourishment. 

“What was the meaning of Cristeen’s gesture?” Data asked. He imitated her movement, tossing his head back, eyes closed. “She performed it on eight occasions during your conversation.” 

Deanna knelt and plucked a few blades of grass from the water’s edge. “She was laughing, Data.” Tearing the blades into pieces, she sprinkled them on the surface. The hungry fish gobbled them up and chirped again as though saying thank you.

“She made no accompanying vocalization.” 

“Some Betazoids don’t laugh aloud,” Deanna confirmed. She stood, taking Data’s offered arm in assistance and brushed her dress back into place. “It’s often easier that way.” 

“But isn’t laughter an audible expression of amusement?”

“Yes, but it isn’t all about the sound, Data. Laughter is a social behavior too, something meant to be shared.” 

“So, it is more about experiencing something humorous together than the sound one creates in response?”

“Exactly.”

Data stored that discovery away for later analysis. 

*

“This is where you hang your uniform.” Deanna touched the silver hangers on the rail inside the small recess Data was standing in. “And this,” she said, prodding a wooden box at their feet with her toe, “is where you store your boots.” 

The chapel’s vestibule was slowly filling with guests, the empathic noise of a crowd pushing at the edges of Deanna’s consciousness. She sensed an indifference from them regarding Data. If anyone noticed him, an initial spark of intrigue preceded a welcoming acceptance; Deanna felt it wash through the back of her head towards the man it was projected to. 

Being surrounded by pleasant emotions soothed Deanna’s nerves, though she wished she could say the same for Data. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have said he was tense. There was a tightness about him, in his stiff posture, expression and clipped responses, and he seemed preoccupied in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps she was projecting her feelings onto him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“When do we undress?” Data asked, voice quieter than usual. He peered over Deanna’s shoulder at the other guests milling inside, finding recesses of their own to disrobe within.

“In the next few minutes. Pull the curtain across if you want privacy.” She went to tut at herself, because of course Data wouldn’t feel the need for such a thing, when he snatched the drape’s white silk across. 

“Thank you, Counselor.” 

Deanna smiled to herself and stepped into the next available recess, already reaching over her shoulders to unfasten her dress’ catches. Data’s peculiar behavior was most likely an act, a subroutine he’d created specifically for the trip after researching or drawing upon his experiences with nudity. 

Dress hung and shoes deposited in the box, Deanna felt a strong presence in her mind: a nurturing affection, combined with impatience and a flicker of resentment. Not her mother, but one of her dearest mother’s friends, the inimitable Rosalyn Dylk. Deanna nodded in greeting to her and thanked the gods they were both busy with undressing. Hopefully, she’d leave her in peace once inside the chapel’s sanctuary. There’d be no escaping her beady mind’s eye at the reception unless Data was enough to keep her occupied. Deanna could handle it, though. She was a valued crew member of a Federation flagship and, dare she say it, heir to the Sacred Chalice of Rixx—she could handle “Auntie” Rosalyn.

Deanna folded her undergarments and placed them in a cloth sleeve draping one of the hangers. Fully nude, and feeling incredibly freed by it, Deanna stepped up to Data’s recess and spoke through the curtain. 

“I’m outside when you’re ready, Data.” 

“Counselor?” Data’s pale fingers closed around the curtain’s silvery edge, almost blending into the silk. He pulled it open barely a half-inch before snatching it closed again. A loud crash came from inside—the wooden shoe box had been kicked over. The sound drew the attention of every mind Deanna could sense. 

“Data? Are you all right?”

She gasped as Data reached through the gap in the curtain and pulled her inside by her wrist. His other hand clasped firmly over his eyes, and he was still fully dressed. Deanna tried not to make any reaction and leaned back calmly against the wall, its refreshingly cool marble sapping the warmth from her bare skin.

“I apologize, Counselor,” Data said from behind his hand, “but I am incapable of participating in your people’s custom. Had I known, I would have suggested you invite someone else. I do not wish to offend.” 

“You’re not going to offend anyone,” Deanna said slowly, curious as to what was going on inside Data’s head. “Betazoids don’t believe in asking more from someone than they are capable of giving. If you’re more comfortable wearing your uniform, nobody will think any less of you.” 

While she knew Data would argue this problem of his—whatever it was—wasn’t an issue of comfort, she suspected there might be a contradiction in his systems. Something about his uniform, perhaps? Wearing it appropriately was part of his duty in representing the Federation.

“I apologize for not making myself clear,” Data said, still covering his eyes like he didn’t trust his eyelids to stay closed on their own. “I am incapable of attending the ceremony at all.” 

Deanna wanted to reach up and take Data’s hand, draw it gently from his face and hold it in her own, but a part of her was fascinated by his response. She’d never seen him behave quite so . . . human. “Why not?”

“My modesty subroutine is one of my most fundamental programs. I am unable to alter its parameters.”

“I see,” Deanna said—her way of saying, _go on_. 

“It only allows me to fully undress in certain situations.” 

“And those are?”

“There are several, Counselor, but I will summarise. In instances when I require vital repairs. In extreme circumstances, such as atmospheric conditions where I am unable to cool my systems using normal methods or where clothing could result in my dysfunction. Sexually intimate scenarios with a consenting partner or partners—”

“Yes, I understand,” Deanna said quickly, sensing others listening on the other side of the curtain. “That doesn’t stop you from attending in uniform.”

“A secondary aspect of the subroutine concerns being in the physical presence of naked individuals.” That explained the hand over his face. “It does not permit me to view another individual who typically wears clothing in a state of undress unless they have consented. There is one instance to the contrary, and that is if they require my assistance for survival and cannot give consent explicitly.” 

“That’s easily solvable.”

Data’s eyebrows rose behind his hand. “It is?”

“Yes. First of all, you have my permission to look at me, Data.” 

Data lowered his hand, blinking his golden eyes open to look down at her. She smiled up at him, realizing at that moment how much she trusted him. Only one member of the _Enterprise_ crew had a photographic memory record, and despite that, Deanna trusted him unreservedly to keep what he’d see of her today private. 

She gestured beyond the curtain. “Do you think Cristeen’s guests would remove their clothes so readily if they didn’t consent to be seen?” 

“I cannot assume that.”

“Our nakedness symbolizes that, both physically and spiritually, we have nothing to hide. We’re sharing that trust in the spirit of unity and love, for Cristeen and each other. And we extend that trust to you, Data.”

“This is an . . . unusual circumstance,” Data said, eyes fixed on Deanna’s face. “That does not mean I can alter my most basic programming.” 

Deanna stood a little straighter. “Have you ever tried?” 

“I do not follow.” 

“Dr. Soong must’ve been aware that any subroutine he wrote for you might limit you. Would he not have given you some flexibility to change them?” 

Data seemed to ponder that. “It would take some time to test that theory.” 

“How much time?”

“At least a minute.” 

Deanna laughed aloud at that. “I think we can spare it.” 

Crossing her hands behind her back, she peered up at Data’s face while he worked at the task he presumed impossible. His expression was blank, mouth set, eyes seeming to peer inward as though reading a book inside his head. A book about himself. On the other side of the curtain, more minds amassed. Deanna sensed their anticipation in a swell of free-floating emotion crashing against her in a great wave. 

Data’s head tipped to one side as he came out of his review. A smile flashed across his face. “There appeared to be some possibility for adaptability. I am not certain my alterations will work, however.” 

“Only one way to find out!” Deanna slipped through the small gap in the curtain to join her fellow Betazoids. She hoped Data’s inward tinkering would be successful, but she couldn’t imagine Dr. Soong wanting his creation’s life restricted to such black and white principles. 

At the end of the room, the doors leading to the chapel’s sanctuary were open; the ushers sent the first guests to their seats as they filed through into the warm, welcoming space beyond. Deanna joined the back of the neat queue. From there, she caught a peek at the dazzling interior decorations: a jungle of living flowers and foliage on every surface, wrapping the ceiling beams and the pillars, creeping along the backs of the rows of seats. Their rich fragrance seeped into the vestibule, the humidity that kept them thriving warming her naked skin. She breathed in deep. 

It’d been far too long since she’d been home. She’d missed it. As she walked towards the open doors, the happiness glowing from the minds around her was so dense it felt like wading through deep, warm water. She let herself float there within it, the depthless pool of liquid joy, and knew Cristeen felt it too.

The curtain Data had been hiding behind slid open slowly. Data stepped out naked from head to toe, his golden skin gleaming in the muted lighting. He made a cautious sweep of the naked crowd before meeting Deanna’s gaze and smiling. 

“Glad you could join us,” Deanna whispered, leaning her temple against his shoulder when he stood beside her.

Arm in arm, they entered the sanctuary. 

*

The reception was held in the chapel’s adjoining garden. All guests had dressed again following the ceremony—performed aloud, as Deanna promised—and Data felt a distinct appreciation for being back in uniform. The happy couple had made a speech on a platform overlooking the garden before joining their friends and family, and the silence that accompanied the gathering before the service returned. But the garden was far from quiet. 

Sporadic reverberations from the ceremonial gong of thanks filled the air, bathing the space in sound. It signaled now was the time to eat. 

A semi-circular buffet table stood in the lawn’s center, piled high with an impressive spread of what Data learned was called ‘finger food’ due to its conveniently small portion size. Data observed the guests making their selections from beneath a wyllox tree, its swaying vine-like branches occasionally snaking around his shoulders despite there being no noticeable breeze. The tree was similar to what was colloquially known as a ‘weeping willow’ on Earth, though the wyllox’s writhing movement made it seem almost sentient.

The guests filed around the curved table of Betazoid delicacies, selecting what appealed to them. And there was a wide variety to choose from. 

An abundance of fruit elegantly draped silver stands and overflowed delicate glass bowls. Data accessed his mental catalog of known foods, identifying those he didn’t recognise. Uttaberries. Jacarine slices. Transparent Auqo grapes. Jakaytas.

A glistening silver platter housed neat rows of crackers topped with portioned meat, all decorated with a dusting of colored powder and carefully placed herb stems for garnish. Another displayed plump Betazed oysters on a bed of shaved ice. One was buried beneath a mountain of salad leaves curled on the ends like elegant fingers coaxing you to take a bite.

Near the end of the table, cheeses native to Betazed stood pre-sliced alongside a selection of freshly baked miniature breads. The alternative—rows of small chocolate desserts in silver dishes—appeared popular with the children who had joined the gathering after the ceremony. 

Everyone appeared thrilled by the selection. Their plates were piled high, and Data noticed several guests returning for second helpings. Even the wyllox seemed to crave the food. Its silvery branches reached past Data towards the spread, trunk creaking as it bent in its direction. Data was incapable of wanting. He was incapable of jealousy also, but he somehow knew that, if it were possible, he would envy the enjoyment and satisfaction the guests got from the cuisine. 

Once the buffet’s visitors had filled their plates, they rung the gong before taking a seat at one of the many tables. Each had placeholders denoting the pre-planned seating arrangements, names handwritten in elaborate Betazoid script. Deanna and Data were unexpected guests, so had a table of their own. Deanna was seated there now, licking chocolate from her spoon following her fourth dessert. She did not acknowledge Data as he sat beside her. 

“Is something troubling you, Counselor?” Data asked. Whenever Deanna ate more than two desserts, something usually was. 

Deanna sighed. “No, Data. But I’ve been getting a telepathic battering from my mother’s friend ever since I sat down. She has a very strong mind.” She pressed two fingers to her temple and inhaled deeply. “It’s pretty tiring.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help? I could engage her in a conversation.” It would not have been the first time Data had assisted in distracting a prominent Betazoid simply by talking to them. The Captain said it was one of his strengths.

“No, thank you. Your conversation is all I need.” She pushed her depleted desert aside, pulling another full dish across the tablecloth towards herself. “That, and this.” 

“These portions are smaller than those served in Ten Forward,” Data pointed out. 

“Mm,” Deanna hummed, digging her spoon into the mouse. “Then you’ll forgive me for eating five.” 

Forgiveness had never entered Data’s mind. He was simply stating a fact and trying to meet Deanna’s request for conversation. 

“Maybe you should try one,” Deanna said, closing her eyes briefly as she wrapped her lips around her spoon, savoring the mouthful before swallowing it. 

“I have no desire to waste food others are enjoying.” 

“Because you don’t need it?”

Data nodded. “And I do not experience similar enjoyment.” 

“Perhaps,” Deanna said, pointing her spoon at Data, “there _is_ a way you can enjoy it.”

Furrowing his brow to show his confusion, Data pondered upon the Counselor’s meaning. “I find it intriguing to watch others eat, but I do not enjoy it.” 

“You’ve moved beyond what you thought were your boundaries already today, Data. How do you know this might not be a similar situation?”

“I do not have taste buds. Regardless of my programming, taste is an impossibility.” 

“You might enjoy it on a different level. Why don’t you give it a try?”

As Data started to explain that he did not have the relevant circuitry or mechanisms to appreciate or receive nourishment from ingesting substances, a short golden-haired girl approached the edge of the table. She stared up at Data in the forward way many young children stared and slid her plate of food beside Deanna’s empty dessert dishes.

“Hi, I’m Abbey,” she said, confident. “You’re not from this planet, are you?” 

Data shook his head. “I am not. How could you tell?”

Abbey crossed her hands on the table’s edge, resting her chin upon them. “’Cause you’re shiny. And everyone’s talking about you. What’s your name?”

“Data.” 

“That’s a funny name.” She climbed up onto the table’s spare seat and reached out to pick at her canapés with her fingers. “I was supposed to sit over there,” she said, pointing to the other side of the garden. “But it was the most boring table ever.” 

Data glanced at Deanna. She smiled and continued eating.

“I cannot promise this table will be any more entertaining,” Data said, wanting to be honest. 

“How come you don’t have food?” Abbey did not appear to mind talking with her mouth full. “You know it’s free, right?”

“I do not require sustenance.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Okay. Well, have my jakayta. I don’t like them.” She held it out to him, an oval fruit about the size of Data’s fist with a smooth honey-colored rind. When Data took it, Abbey seemed pleased to be rid of it.

“Why did you select one from the buffet if you dislike them?” Data asked, looking at it in his hand.

“My mother says you should always give things second, third, even fourth chances.”

“Why is that?”

“’Cause if you decide you don’t like something, or you’re no good at something, you’ve closed a door.” She gestured pulling a door closed in front of her. “If you keep trying to open the door, one day you might walk through it.”

“I think that’s excellent advice, Data,” Deanna said, a smile brightening her whole face. 

“Then . . .” Data frowned, turning to Abbey. “Should you not be the one to eat it?” 

“No way! They’re too sour. I only took one to stop mother nagging me. She’s _always_ nagging me.”

Deanna chuckled. “So, Data. Without sounding too much like a nag, are you going to eat that jakayta or just stare at it?”

Data realized he was outnumbered. There would be no harm in eating a little of the fruit. No harm would come from eating all of it either. He was capable of chewing and swallowing, but that was as far as it went, at least on the surface. There had been occasions when he’d eaten or imbibed, on duty and otherwise; none of those occasions resulted in anything besides his mental cataloging of the chemical components inside his mouth. 

While Abbey and Deanna watched intently, Data took an awkward, out-of-practice bite from his first jakayta fruit. As his teeth pierced the papery skin, juice burst across his tongue. It was warmer than expected, and as the heated liquid washed over his synthetic saliva ducts, a small electrical charge shot through his tongue. Data jolted in surprise. The rush of energy was not uncomfortable. It had an almost pleasing quality about it because it was so unexpected. 

“Told you it was sour,” Abbey said with a knowing look. 

Data took another bite. The electrical charge repeated, though this time the reaction lasted a few milliseconds longer. It left his mouth feeling warmer, and he thought he detected a hint of bitter spice on his tongue. The sensation was so distracting he felt no urge to analyze the cause. 

“Well, Data?” Deanna asked. “What’s your verdict?”

“It is . . . interesting.” 

“Are you glad you tried it?”

“Yes.” He took another bite, and when he jerked at another electrical discharge, Abbey laughed. 

“Hey!” Abbey exclaimed. “Data kind of sounds like jakayta.” In a singsong tone, head bobbing from side to side with the rhyme, she said: “Data ate a jakayta!” before erupting into laughter.

Without thinking, Data tipped his head back the way Cristeen had done and let out a single chirp of laughter. Deanna dropped her spoon into her dish. 

“You laugh funny,” Abbey said, still giggling at her own joke. 

Data smiled. The laugh had been an imitation, half impersonation of a Betazoid acquaintance and half a sound he had practiced in his quarters more than he would perhaps admit. Deanna’s advice came to mind, that laughter was more about sharing a humorous moment with others than the sound. That, and Abbey’s immediate recognition of his laughter, gave him renewed confidence about being accepted the way he was. 

Well, it would have renewed his confidence if that were possible. After all, he had no emotions. None at all. 

*

Beverly wouldn’t call what she was doing prying. She’d been invited into Data’s quarters—rarely kept locked—after volunteering for the unenviable task of feeding the four-legged beast that kept the _Enterprise_ second officer as a pet. If she took the time to admire some of the items Data chose to display on his walls and shelves while Spot ate feline supplement number whatever at her feet, she saw no harm in that. 

The art he’d chosen was an interesting combination of his own paintings, which those who didn’t know Data might consider vanity, and replicated abstract works of art and sculpture that reminded Beverly of Data’s inner workings. Straight lines. Bold edges. Neat, repetitive patterns. The objects on his shelves were like reading a book’s contents page, each one representing a different chapter in its owner’s life. As she reached out to inspect Data’s prized Sherlock Holmes pipe, the doors parted behind her. 

Data and Deanna stood in the open doorway. They weren’t expected this early, and Deanna looked tired, so Beverly hoped their trip hadn’t been cut short by any unpleasantries. 

“Ah, Data. You’ve come to relieve me.”

“Good evening, Doctor,” Data said cordially, stepping inside. “Thank you for taking care of Spot. I do hope she has behaved.” He squatted beside Spot’s bowl and reached a hand to her. Spot ignored him, entirely focused on her food.

“She was fine, Data,” Beverly lied. It had taken her almost an hour to get Spot back inside Data’s quarters after she’d shot into the corridor the moment the door opened. “How was the wedding?” she asked Deanna through the doorway. 

Deanna nodded calmly. “Lovely.”

“My experience of the wedding was most satisfactory also, Doctor,” Data added. He got to his feet as Beverly stepped around him, eager to leave before Spot got any more ideas about escaping.

“Oh?”

“I had several new experiences on Betazed, and I am pleased to say that, with the Counselor’s assistance, I am now capable of displaying my nudity to anyone at any time.”

Beverly tried to stop a smile from spreading across her face. She couldn’t, so she covered it with her fingertips. “I see,” she said, her voice coming out a little higher than she expected. “Well, good evening, Data.”

As the doors closed behind her, she took Deanna’s arm and, aware Data might overhear, kept her laughter in. “Should I ask?”

Deanna pursed her lips, holding back a laugh of her own, and said, “Probably not.”


End file.
